Samuel Rowley
Born: 29 October 1842 at Mars Hill, Suckley, Worcestershire, England
Parents: William Rowley and Ann Jewell
Married: Ann Taylor, 23 April 1865 at Parowan, Iron, Utah, United States
Died: 8 January 1928 at Huntington, Emery, Utah, United States
Ann Taylor
Born: 24 April 1846 at Arnold, Nottinghamshire, England
Parents: George Taylor and Mary Franks Smith
Died: 14 Jan 1901 at Huntington, Emery, Utah, United States
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF SAMUEL ROWLEY
I, Samuel Rowley, was born the 29th day of October, 1842, at Mars Hill in the Parish
of Suckley, Worcester,
England. My father, William Rowley, was born 21st of
June 1785, at Cradley, Herefordshire, England. He lived
all his life in southern England: Hereford, Worcester, and
Gloucester.
At the age of 22, he married Ann Jewell on the 2nd of
June, 1807. Seven children were born to them. Ann suffered
with poor health and died soon after her youngest child was
born, leaving William to care for them as best he could.
My mother, Ann Jewell, was living in the home as the
children's governess. She was the daughter of William Jewell
and Frances Green born on the 5th of December, 1807, in Leigh,
Worcestershire, England.
It was the law in England at that time that no female
could remain in the home where there was a single man.
William knew that he must find a mother for his children.
He knew Ann was a good woman and loved his children and he
had respect for her, for the love and respect she had shown
for the family, and the children wanted her to stay. He
felt he had found a good mother for his children. He married
my mother, 22 August 1836, and the children readily accepted
her as their new mother.
This was a great undertaking for Mother, as the oldest
of the children was nearly as old as she was, but through the
increasing of love and respect and trust they had for each
other a happy and contented home was enjoyed by all.
Their first child was born the 8th of May, 1837. They
named her Louisa. She was born in Leigh, Worcester.
My father was considered to be a well-to-do farmer and
horticulturist. They had a comfortable home, surrounded by
lawns and orchards. Father was a good provider. He raised a
good garden of hop vines. selling hops, fruits, and
vegetables at the market place. We were a happy family.
My parents were very devout in their beliefs. They had
joined a sect known as the United Brethren, along with many
other people in that section of England. They had broken off
from the Wesleyan or Primitive Methodist faith with a Mr.
Thomas Kingston as Superintendent, and were becoming quite
active at that time. (This Mr. Kingston and most of his
followers later joined the Mormon Church.)
Mother and Father were always searching for some light
and truth. They spent much time reading the Bible, and in
prayer. They were prospering, and their family was also
increasing. On the 14th of December, 1838, my sister
Elizabeth was born.
In 1840, Elder Wilford Woodruff came into England. He
was one of the Apostles of the Mormon Church, known as the
Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. He and his
companion were speaking at the house of John Benbow,
a wealthy farmer cultivating 300 acres of land. Occupying
a large mansion with no family, the Benbows gladly offered
lodging to the missionaries. Mr. Benbow and his wife were
also part of the 600 United Brethren which also included
my parents. He offered space in his home for the meeting.
My parents attended and were converted, which resulted in
the baptism of my mother. She was baptized and confirmed
on the 6th of May, 1840. Father was baptized and confirmed
on the 24th of May, 1840, at Nightingale Bower near Birenwood
and Tapperdv. (These dates were recorded in the
Baptismal Journal of Wilford Woodruff himself.)
After the baptism, Elder Woodruff and his companion
preached at Dunn's Close, walked four miles from Benbow Farm
Pond, and spent the night at my parents' home. My father was
ordained a Deacon by Wilford Woodruff on his second mission
in 1841.
One night, so I've been told by my mother and
older sisters, a mob of men came to my parents' home and
demanded to have the Elders. Father, standing in the door,
told the men that they had gone to bed and were guests in
his home and were not to be disturbed. This did not satisfy
the angry mob and they said they were going to get them.
Father said it would be over his dead body. They grabbed
Father and dragged him away from the house. He called to my
Mother to lock the doors and the windows, which she did.
They beat Father severely and thought he was dead. They then
went to the house and tried to get in, but found everything
locked up. The mob was afraid to break into the house, so
they mounted their horses and rode away. When Mother
couldn't hear the hoof beats of the horses, she felt safe to
go out to Father. She found him still conscious, but in
bad condition. She helped him to the house and doctored
him through the night. When morning came and the Elders
arose, they found him badly bruised and in bad condition,
and they advised my parents to sellout and prepare to go
to America. This advice they accepted and as my father
improved in health, they began working and saving to get the
finances to leave. It was hard for my father to part with
his life's work.
More children came to bless my parents' home. My
brother, John, just older than I, was born July 14, 1840.
One time when John was a little boy and Brother Woodruff came
to our home to visit, he patted John on his head and said
that he had baptized John before he was born. That was
because he was born in July after our Mother was baptized in
May.
I was born October 29, 1842, the same year the General
Relief Society was organized in Nauvoo. Richard came next in
line, he being born on the 10th of February, 1844. On the
11th of May, 1846, another brother came, named Thomas.
Another little sister, Jane, was the last child, born on July
17, 1848.
The next few years, many hardships got in the way.
Drought caused the crops to fail for two years in succession.
My parents were forced to sell their home and farm at Public
Auction. This was a great blow to them. Then the climax
came when Father had an accident while traveling to the
market place with some crops to sell. The horse became
frightened and ran, throwing Father from the wagon and running over his body, injuring his leg and hip. This injury,
along with much worry over financial heartache, was more than
Father could stand, and his body could take no more. His
death, on the 14th of February, 1849, brought relief to his
tired body, but oh, the heartache and troubles it brought for
Mother. She was left alone now with seven children of her
own to guide and support, along with sadness and worry. This
took much faith and courage on her part. She was of strong
character. Faith and prayer buoyed her up as she set forth
to accomplish to the best of her ability the task of getting
her family to America. She knew that Father would want her
to. She had seven small children of her own and some of the
younger children of her husband by his former marriage. The
oldest step-child at home was frail, unable to take on heavy
responsibilities.
I was only seven years old at the time my father left
us, and John was only two years older. Mother found a job
for us three miles from where we lived. Mother would get
John, Richard, and I up early, give us a light breakfast, if
there was some to have, and take us by the hand and go with
us to our job at a brickyard, where we carried bricks to
stack and tromped mud with our bare feet. On our route, we
had to cross a stream of water with only a narrow bridge. My
mother made sure we were safely across the bridge and that we
were wide awake. She would then walk back to her work at her
brother, Thomas Jewell's, who was a tailor by profession.
She was very efficient with her needle, making men's
clothing. She also did sewing, making fine clothes and
draperies for her sister who had married a wealthy man.
Her brother told her that if she would leave the Mormon
Church and get back where she was before, she would never be
without work. He also told her that if she died as a Mormon,
she would be buried behind the church instead of at the
front, but her testimony of the truth of her religion gave
her strength to carry on and save what she could with the
girls working, too. Elizabeth worked with her at the shop
making smock frocks, which were in demand. Louisa worked
diligently at her job, also, and they were slowly able to
save a little money.
One day the word came from President Brigham Young telling
the Saints desiring to go to the land of America of an
emigration fund from the Church headquarters in America.
The fund would pay the way to get to America and also buy
handcarts and supplies. However, it also included the
invitation to walk 1300 miles to the Rocky Mountains. Mother
felt that the way had been opened up for the family to leave
England, our homeland, and be with the Saints and to have a
new start. Also, by the time we could leave, John would be
old enough for the army. (At this time a war between England
and Russia was in progress.) Mother was very anxious to get
him away from there. So everyone worked as fast as they
could to get what was needed to take with us. Mother tried
to persuade Eliza to remain with her own brothers and sisters
because of her weak condition. She knew that the journey
would be especially hard on her, but Eliza had such a great
feeling for my mother that she felt she couldn't remain
behind, so Mother, showing her love and feeling for Eliza,
consented to take her along.
At last the day came when we could embark. On the 4th
day of May, 1856, we sailed on the ship Charles Thorton, a
sailing vessel. Our experience on the sea was exciting.
Several things took place that tested our faith. During
one storm we had wind that drove us back 500 miles. Another
time the ship was in a calm with no wind at all, and we sat
in one place. The Saints fasted and prayed and the wind came
and we traveled on. Another time the ship caught fire. Our
Captain asked us to fast and pray for help and the Lord sent
the rain to put out the fire. Captain Collins recognized
that the blessings the Saints had received had saved the
ship, and the Saints were given privileges that others didn't
get. He was very good to the Saints but a cruel man to his
crew.
The ship arrived in New York on June 14th, 1856 and we
were received by Elder John Taylor. After landing at Castle
Gardens, we sailed up the Hudson River to the terminal of the
Rock Island Railroad. We traveled by railroad and boat to
Iowa City, then to Council Bluffs. Here we were to prepare
for one of the worst journeys that has ever been recorded.
The Saints were lighthearted and worked with zeal preparing
their handcarts. They were being put together with
green timber as timber was scarce then because so many Saints
were anxious to get on the road. The wheels were wrapped
with rawhide strips to hold them together. While they were
being built we were busy getting our supplies together and
getting cattle bought and broken. We waited several weeks,
going to prayer every morning and night.
We left Iowa campground with handcarts bound for Salt
Lake Valley, 1300 miles in the distance. We left under the
leadership of James C. Willie and Milan Atwood. Before we
left, Elder Levi Savage, who was returning from a mission,
spoke of the intense suffering the Saints would have to
endure if they left--and he cried like a child with the
thought. At this meeting he spoke of the lateness of our
start, and predicted the cold and suffering that would be
encountered before we would arrive at the Valley. Mr.
Willie rebuked him for this speech. He was afraid it would
dishearten the people and he told them that if the Saints
would be faithful and do as he told them, winter would be
turned into summer. But subsequent events proved that Elder
Savage was correct. A few of the Saints preferred to wait.
The others, with buoyant spirits, started to draw their carts
from Council Bluffs.
It was on the 15th day of July, 1856, that the Willie
handcart company left. This company consisted of 500 souls,
120 handcarts, five wagons, 24 oxen and 45 beef cattle.
The first 100 miles went well, with the scenery being
beautiful and the game along the way being plentiful. The
spirit of joy reigned in this camp of Israel.
However, on the 5th day of September, the company cattle
were
off by a storm. Approaching in advance of a storm
a large herd of buffalo were on the stampede. They came by
our camp and about 30 head and our best yoke of oxen were
swept away with them. We hunted several days for them, but
had to give it up. With our oxen gone we had to put 100
pounds of flour on each cart and our rations were reduced at
the same time.
As we started out the weather was hot and our feet would
blister. The open sores were unbearable. Later they would
become calloused and crack open. The cattle had to be herded
at night so they wouldn't stray away and get picked up by the
Indians. This was very hard on the men and boys after a hard
day's pushing or pulling a handcart. They got very little
sleep or rest. When going up hills it was hard on them, then
going down hills it was hard to hold back.
One night at camp, it seemed we were going to go to bed
hungry. My dear mother brought out two very hard sea
biscuits that she had put away while on board ship. She said
they were kept for a rainy day. She put them in the skillet
and poured water over them and we knelt in prayer while she
asked the blessing over them. When the lid was removed, we
were very happy to see a full pan of food, enough for the
whole family. We again thanked the Lord for such a wonderful
blessing.
Due to the rush in making the carts, the wheels had been
wrapped with rawhide as they were made of green timber, and
now they were getting rickety and hard to push and pull. The
weather was getting very cold, rations were short, and work
was hard. Our dear sister Eliza could no longer endure these
hardships. In October, 1856, she went to rest and was buried
in a snow bank on the plains.
This was a hard blow on Mother, to leave her there know
ing that as the snow melted away, the wolves and other
animals would devour her body. It was also hard for
Mother to see her family trudging along with sore feet from
walking in all kinds of weather, with blistered feet in the
summer making them very tender for the winter.
Also somewhere along the way, Mother had a piece of
sagebrush get in her eye, which was very sore and became
worse in cold weather.
As winter approached, the suffering became almost impossible.
As we waded through streams of water, our
clothes would freeze almost to our limbs, making progress
very painful. Many people died by the wayside from the
extreme cold and scant food.
We had to cross the Sweetwater three times. The last
time we crossed, we had the last dust of flour dealt out to
us. Captain Willie and Brother Elder went in search of food.
(About this time, Cyrus Wheelock of the Dan Jones Party met
them with provisions. He could not restrain the tears when
he saw the condition the Saints were in. Many were unwise
and ate more than their shrunken stomachs could hold and died
from the effects of it.)
My oldest sister Louisa shared, as much as it was
possible for a girl, in all the cares and heartaches of the
Journey. One night, after helping to push the handcart all
day, she was taken sick with severe cramps. Mother and
Elizabeth sat by her side trying to relieve her discomfort
as best they could with what little they had to do with,
which was mostly encouragement. Next morning she was partially recovered,
but needed to be put in the sick wagon.
That provoked Captain Willie and he abused her shamefully.
He was very unkind to the Saints and when someone
suggested to have some of the Church cattle that he was
bringing for food killed to save the Saints from starving, he
replied that he would rather save the cattle than the people.
One night we had to make camp without water. Fifteen
people froze to death and had to be left by the wayside. My
brother John gave out before reaching camp and lay down on
the ground. When the captain saw him, he served him a
severe kick. As he groaned it indicated that he was alive,
so he had to be put in the sick wagon. My mother had to
melt snow to thaw our hair from the ground where we
slept. My youngest brother Thomas's hand was badly frozen
while holding onto the cart to keep up with the family.
When he got up by the campfire, it swelled up until it looked
like a fat toad. It was very painful and it stayed fat the
rest of his life. My mother had often said she'd be the
happiest woman on earth if she could enter the Salt Lake
Valley with all her children, and with the exception of one
she raised like her own, she was blessed to enter the Salt
Lake Valley with all her own.
Before we reached the Valley, Elder Franklin D.
Richards and a company of Saints who were passing our camp
saw our plight and rode with haste to Salt Lake and reported
it to President Young at the October Conference. As soon as
Conference came to a close, President Young addressed the
Saints and told them that there were a number of Saints on
the plains on their way to Zion with handcarts and that they
needed help. Twenty wagons and teams were needed by the next
day to go to their relief. It would be necessary to send two
experienced men with each wagon. He said that he would
furnish three teams and wagons loaded with provisions and
send good men, and Brother Heber C. Kimball would do the
same. If there were any brethren present who had suitable
outfits for such a journey they should make it known at once
so they would know what they could depend on.
When the rescue party reached Fort Bridger they became
alarmed as they had expected to meet the Willie Company at
this point. After some deliberation the decision was made to
send Joseph Young and Cyrus Wheelock ahead to urge the
company on if possible.
Soon the snow became so deep and the wind was blowing
from the north so cold that they had to camp-for the men and
animals were completely exhausted. It was here on October
20th that Captain Willie and Joseph Elder, riding on two
worn-out animals, brought the news to the relief parties
that unless immediate aid came, the Willie Company would
perish.
The men soon prepared to start out again, and after a
hard journey, they arrived at our camp. There they found
people who had not eaten for 48 hours. Immediately fires
were made and food was prepared. For some, the rescue party
was too late, for that night nine more deaths occurred. Part
of the rescuers stayed with the Willie Company, but some
pushed on to rescue others along the way. We had been forced
to discard some of our bedding back aways when the snow had
become 18 inches deep, making it impossible to push through,
and now we really needed it to keep warm. A rescue party
came to us under the direction of George D. Grant after we
had been in camp for two days, and they had a wagonload of
provisions.
We started on our way again after this rest. We crossed
the river again and marched all day through the snow in our
wet clothes. We soon received plenty of help from the Valley
and our scanty belongings were hauled in wagons. I thought I
could take our cart in alone, but I could soon see that I
couldn't take it any farther, so I reluctantly turned it out
of the road in among the cedars. From there I could ride
whenever we came to a downhill haul. We arrived in the
wonderful Valley of our new homeland on November 19, 1856.
Upon our arrival in the Valley in the mountains many
people had friends or relatives to greet them but the Rowley
family had no one. Still, my mother bowed her head and
thanked the Lord that she had been blessed to get to the
Promised Valley with all her own children alive, even though
not in the best of health.
Providence provided kind friends to supply our needs.
Mother found some good soul who removed the piece of
sagebrush which had caused so much pain and discomfort for
most of the journey from her eye. Brother John, who was
still disabled with frozen limbs, was cared for by a family
in the city. Elizabeth also lived in the city, praying to
find employment, which she did. Mother and three of her
children; myself, Thomas, and Jane, were sent to Nephi, Juab
County. where I remained until 1858.
My sister Elizabeth had married a native of Nephi by the
name of David Udall. I worked for him until our Bishop
learned that a man in Provo needed a boy my size, so I was
sent there to him. I was given a place for sleeping quarters
at the corral. After a few days I began to think that I was
better off with my family in Nephi, as I was not receiving
much kindness. I had had it, so one morning in January with
10 inches of snow on the ground and without dinner or lodging
I started for Nephi. While crossing Payson Bottoms I met a
man from Santaquin. After he asked me a few questions, he
became interested in me and told me when I got to Santaquin
to inquire for Web's place and they would take care of me.
The next day I rode to Nephi.
In the spring of 1858 a man from Iron Co., Andrew
Bastian by name, came to Nephi and inquired of Bishop Bigler
if there was a woman in the ward that would likely make him a
good wife. He was recommended to my mother and he made his
acquaintance with her. After a few days they were married
and she moved with him to Parowan, taking her children with
her. Andrew died within a year from that time, leaving my
mother well-provided for, with a farm and a home for her
comfort.
In the spring of 1858 I went to Iron Co. after visiting
with my mother and her two younger children, Thomas and Jane.
I went to work for a man by the name of Thomas P. Smith, who
lived at Fort Johnson (known as Enoch on the map). Their
agricultural resources were so limited that they moved to
Summit Creek in a body. I continued to work for Brother
Smith until the year of 1862 when I went back to Parowan to
take charge of my mother's affairs. When Panguitch was
settled I was one of the pioneers of that place.
In the spring of 1864 I returned to Parowan. One day in
1865 my cousin William Arton told a bunch of young men that
he was taking some supplies to meet some families from
England which were headed for the town of Summit Creek in
Iron Co. I was with Wi11iam and the boys.
We met one family by the name of George and Mary Taylor.
One of the girls in the family really appealed to me very
much. Her name was Ann. This family went to Parowan instead
of Union so I got better acquainted with Ann. She
immediately found work at a farm making butter and cheese and
caring for a family. She soon became a young woman of
marriageable age.
Because of her sweet disposition and outstanding
personality Ann was respected and loved by all who knew her.
She was courted and considered prominent with President
Brigham Young's daughters when they were in Parowan with the
President when he made his visits to all the new colonies.
Ann and I were married on April 23, 1865 by William
Danes, at Parowan Utah, at the home of my mother and
stepfather, Luke Ford, whom my mother had married a few years
after the death of Andrew Bastian. For awhile she helped me
run the farm for my mother, so again she was making butter
and cheese and doing the other duties a housewife did in the
home.
On March 6th 1866 a daughter was born to us. She was
blessed and given the name Mary Ann. Soon after her birth I
took my wife to Salt Lake City to the Endowment House and we
were sealed to each other. We were not able to have our
daughter sealed to us at that time as the sealing of children
to parents had not yet been introduced. That ordinance would
come when the Temple was completed, so we had to wait for
awhi1e.
Our family added a son on the l2th of January, 1868.
He was given the name of Samuel James. He was a husky lad
and grew to manhood and we were proud of him.
By this time we were able to build a three-roomed adobe
house which faced the southeast and which had a porch on the
north and also one on the south. We set out a young orchard
of peaches, apples, plums, and English currants. We also
beautified our yard with shade trees and roses. We were very
comfortable.
On 20 January 1870 we were again blessed with another
daughter, who was given the name of Hannah Eliza. Hannah was
to honor my wife's sister and my half-sister back in England,
and Eliza was to honor my sister Eliza who died on the plains
and was buried in a snowbank. We still missed her.
Our family was growing as time went on. Another
daughter came to gladden our home on the 15th of July, 1872.
She was given the name of Sarah Jane, Jane to honor my sister
Jane, and Sarah for my wife's sister Sarah. Alice Louisa was
born 11 October, 1874. She was named for my sister.
That same year, President Young came to convert the
Saints to the United Order. I laid all I had upon the altar,
my team, my wagon, my farm, and myself. I worked all summer
and in the fall we found it to be a failure. All that I got
out of it was 14 bushels of potatoes and I had to work for my
bread. Well, that was just a little experience.
A short time after that, my wife's mother died and a
tumor made its appearance on her father's face. My wife was
the youngest daughter. Her father was very lonely so we took
him to our home and cared for him until his death. That was
something we were always glad we did.
Our second son, George Walter, named for my wife's
father, was born 25th of June, 1877, at the home in Parowan,
as were all the others older than him. By this time the
older children were going to school. It seemed they were
growing up quite fast, but they were getting to be able to
help where needed.
At a quarterly conference being held in Parowan in 1879,
I was called on a mission for the Church. I could have my
choice to either go to England, my native land, or to go to
San Juan to help settle the Indians in that area.
At this time I had a family of seven children and had
followed the vocation of farming and had a comfortable home
in Parowan. My wife didn't want to be left alone with the
family to raise, so we decided to go to San Juan so we would
go together and take the children.
Not being able to go in the spring, we were given a year
to get ready. We went in the fall. My mother helped to make
bedding and cookies, and dried fruit to take along. She
helped also, to make a new rag carpet which was put over the
bows on the wagon under the tent, with many pockets sewed on
the carpet to hold the needed everyday things, such as needles
and thread, soap, and combs, etc. The beds, food, boxes of
shoes for everyone, and clothing were put in the wagon.
On the first of September, we were blessed with another
son we named John Taylor. I had always been so close to my
brother John that I wanted the baby to be named for him.
Taylor was my wife's maiden name.
Before we left Parowan to start our mission, I took my
wife and oldest daughter Mary Ann to the St. George Temple to
be sealed to us as they were not sealing children to parents
at the time my wife was sealed to me. Mary Ann also had her
endowments at the same time, as she was thirteen years old
and had become of the right age. We felt that this was
important as we had no idea what we were facing on this
mission to the Indians.
After we got back to Parowan and were completing our
preparations, a meeting was called for our final
instructions, so we would all be able to follow the plans
together. Silas S. Smith was assigned to be General Captain
and Assistant Captain was Platte D. Lyman. At the meeting we
were visited by some prominent men from Escalante telling us
that the best way to travel was not the way we had been
advised by our leaders. These were people we deemed honest.
They had lived in the area for many years. Our leaders,
feeling they should know, took their word for what they said
would be best.
So the Parowan group left our hometown on the 23rd of
October, 1879. Included in our group were my wife and myself
with our seven children, one a seven week old baby boy.
My outfit consisted of two wagons, the first driven by
my wife, Ann, with a fine team of horses we called Prince and
Polly, carrying such things as a small camp stove in one end
and a large box with a till that had sections for knives,
forks, and other utensils, pots, pans, and dishes. We also
had room to sleep in the wagon under the beds.
I drove the supply wagon with a team of three yoke of
oxen. The head team were named Lipp and Pinto, next were
Roan and Redd, and next to the wagon were Broad and Stinker.
This wagon had such things as flour, beans, a large box
of shoes of all sizes, grain, potatoes, etc. My oldest son,
Samuel James, 11 years old, and 9 year-old Hannah, rode
horses and drove the cattle. When they got tired they rode
in the supply wagon.
Going by way of Little Creek Canyon and over the Divide
into Bear Valley, down Bear Canyon to the Sevier River, by
way of Panguitch, Red Canyon and the East Fork of Sevier, up
the Sweetwater Creek and over the mountains into Escalante
Canyon, we found there the part of our company from Beaver.
Our company also waited for the group coming from Cedar City.
The people from Escalante, learning that we were
following their instructions, called a convention and raised
the price of everything they knew we would need to almost
double the price it had been before. They had also told us
at the meeting before we left our home, that the country had
been explored and that the roads were passable. But now we
found out that they had been mistaken or misled.
By the time we reached Escalante there were 83 wagons in
the train. Many of the wagons were in bad condition on
account of the bad roads, and the teams were lame, and the
season was getting late, but the restless colonizers pushed
out, headed for the Forty Mile Spring, where they gathered
early in November, 1879.
By the last of November some seventy families with
eighty-three wagons and hundreds of head of horses and
cattle had congregated at the spring and camped there for
miles around on the desert. We were forty miles from
Escalante and twenty miles from the Colorado River. From
Escalante the roads became worse than before; they were deep
rutted, going over rocky creeks and sinking in deep sands in
the steep, deep washes.
Constant mending of harnesses and wagon repairs were the
order of the drive. Meager equipment was an added burden on
the trek.
Other problems beset the colonizers. The loose stock,
consisting of about 1,800 head of cattle and horses following
along with the wagon train, created a problem. It was hard
to find feed enough for such a large band, making it
necessary to have the service of cowboys to wrangle the
stuff.
One man, Willard Butt, was put in charge of this phase
of the trek, which included driving and ferrying the herd
through the small streams and the Red Colorado and finding
pasture for them. He was a very efficient foreman and with
the help of J.M. Redd, George Decker, and Amasa Barton the
situation was finally under control.
While more settlers were coming in from Escalante to
Forty Mile Spring, other scouting parties, including Platte
D. Lyman, were sent out to see the real lay of the land. One
group of thirteen men was called by President Silas G.
Smith. This group consisted of Andrew Schow, Ruben Collitt,
William Hutchen, Kumen Jones, Cornelius Decker, George Hobbs,
Platt D. Lyman, George D. Lewis, Joseph Burton, Samuel
Bryson, James Rulay, and myself, Samuel Rowley. Our families
remained in camp while we were gone.
Other men and boys that were not called to scout busied
themselves working on roads ahead as well as improving those
they had driven on behind them. The children busied
themselves gathering chips and hooves to boil down for glue
for boats to ferry the entire company across the Colorado
when we got to it.
Our scouting group had two wagons, one loaded with a
boat, the other with supplies. We left on November 28th to
find a way to the Colorado and out on the east side. It took
the party two full days to travel twenty miles northeast to
get to the river. Platte Lyman said it was the worst country
he had ever seen, and we decided as a group that there was no
use of the company undertaking to get through to the San Juan
this way.
When we arrived at the Hole-in-the-Rock, after sixteen
miles of hard driving over rough sandstone hills and sand, we
found ourselves two thousand feet above the riverbed, and we
could find no way to get to the bottom of the cliffs.
Prospecting two miles along up the jagged brow of the
cliff to where it was less abrupt we removed the front wheels
from under the boat and lowered it by hand, zigzagging
downward a mile over and between rugged rocks to a sandy
beach. Across this sand we dragged the load another mile and
slid it two hundred feet over solid surface into the water
about one mile above the hole.
After a late supper we loaded into the boat and tied up
at midnight below the hole. The river here was about 350
feet wide, the current sluggish. and the water milky but of
good taste.
The crossing seemed impossible, the looks of a rugged
terrain most discouraging.
After crossing the Colorado into the San Juan country
and scouting the broken country, the thirteen men returned to
camp.
There were many tries by different groups of men. Seven
men went down the Colorado River to the San Juan, but their
boat ran aground in a rapid and they were forced to turn
back. Then another group of eleven with blankets and few
provisions started up over the bluffs to the east searching
for a way out of the maze.
After several unsuccessful tries to the river through
numerous washes and gullies and over precipitious sandstone
hills, the company on December 1 reached San Juan. Some of
the party were of the opinion that a road could be made if
plenty of money was furnished. Not all agreed, so they made
their return trip to camp. They walked back to the Colorado,
crossed over, and hauled their cart back to the top of the
bank, half a day's hard work, and camped.
On December 3rd, they drove back to camp, much of the
way in the rain. All were wet to the hide. They went back
to the Forty Mile camp. On their return trip, the last group
met a group of men working on a road to Fifty Mile Spring, a
road built over a broken country, leading over numerous
draws. These hardy scouts told the road crew that their trip
had been in vain as they could not get through that way to
their destination (Fort Montezuma). On hearing this the crew
picked up the spades, picks, and shovels and returned with
the scouts to the Forty Mile Spring.
At the regular prayer meeting at the camp, the scouts
gave a report. One of them stated that the solid rock and
rough terrain made it impossible to build any kind of a road.
Most of the others agreed. However, under pressure, George
Hobbs stated his convictions that a road could be built.
Pessimism ran rampant as those unfavorable reports
spread like wildfire. Winter was really upon us. At this
altitude, it was snowing and cold. Cattle were short of
feed, deep snow had fallen in the mountains behind us and a
return trip was almost impossible.
Adverse criticism of going through the "Hole" met with
much disapproval. However, the tireless energy and business
like attitude of President Silas S. Smith made it possible to
adjust to the situation.
At the suggestion of Jens Nielson, a mass meeting was
called at the Forty Mile Spring to discuss the problem. This
meeting was held in the tent of Silas Smith. Some of the
scouts reported favorably with others still contrary. The
company in charge voted to go ahead. Now there were no
dissenting votes.
President Smith weighed the matter prayerfully and
carefully from every standpoint, and concurred with the
company that they should proceed over the proposed route. He
decided to give it a trial.
Platte D. Lyman stated that all expressed themselves
willing to spend three or four months if necessary working on
the road in order to get through.
On December 13, President Smith came from his camp six
miles above the "Hole" and called a meeting at which a
traveling organization was effected with Captain Silas Smith
and Assistant-Captain Platte D. Lyman, in charge in the
absence of Smith.
Captain of 1st l0-Jens Nielson
Captain of 2nd l0-George Sevey
Captain of 3rd l0-Benjamin Perkins
Captain of 4th l0-Henry Holyoak
Captain of 5th l0-Z.B. Decker, Jr.
Captain of 6th l0-Samuel Bryson
Clerk-Charles E. Walton, Sr.
Chaplain-Jens Nielson
On December 14th, President Smith left Fifty Mile
Spring, for the purpose of inducing the Territorial
Legislature to make an appropriation for the road to San
Juan, and to get the Mormon Church to contribute funds. He
obtained $5,000 from the Legislature and $500 from the
Church. This money was used to buy powder, provisions, etc.
These provisions were brought out by several men who came to
assist with the road work. These men had experience with the
use of the powder.
On December 18, 1879, Platte D. Lyman, with a square and
level, determined the grade down the "Hole" for the first
third of the distance to be eight feet to the rod, for the
second third to be five and a half feet to the rod, and the
last part was much better than either of the other two. At
this time there were 47 men working at the Hole and making
good progress, widening the cliff and filling it with sand
and rocks from above.
To make a passable trail down the chasm at first glance
seemed an impossibility. The Hole-in-the-Rock was too narrow
to admit a wagon. The first third of the slope fell eight
feet to the rod, but further down the pitch moderated and
ended in a fairly level landing. This straightened passage,
and several perpendicular ledges below it, constituted the
immediate problem of the company, as did their diminished
provisions and lack of much that was necessary to make a road
to the river. From the top to the bottom of the chasm was
three-fourths of a mile.
On December 17th, another scouting party had been sent
out to go over the proposed route to see if it was possible
to get to Montezuma Creek. Four men were assigned the task.
They took only two pack animals and two riding horses with
them and a small quantity of food and bedding, enough to last
eight days. The maps deceived them, however, and they had
some difficulty finding ways to travel with the horses in
deep snow. It was midwinter and there was no trail to
follow.
George Hobbs and the scouting party related an
experience they had which let them know that the Lord will
provide for his children. Hobbs said it took the first day
to get down to the river by a little trail previously made.
The second day, having crossed the river, they made a little
trail to get out. They then traveled over a bench to what
was called "The Slick Rocks", or "Look-Out Rocks. Just
before they reached these rocks, a herd of mountain sheep,
fourteen in number, came up and followed them for some
distance. The men were quite curious to know what kind of
animals they were, said George.
While the men were cooking breakfast the next morning at
Look-Out Rock, one of these animals came within fifteen feet
of the campfire and stood watching them. Hobbs tried to
catch it with a pack rope, but it was very active in dodging
the lasso. He could have shot it, but he thought it was too
pretty to kill. He followed the sheep for some distance.
They seemed to draw him off down in and through the rocks
until they got to the bottom of the rocks about half a mile
from camp. There the animals left him, so he climbed back
up, following the trail he had just made. He found the other
scouts had been trying to find a way to get down those rocks,
but had returned to camp reporting that they could go no
farther.
Hobbs told them he had already been to the bottom, led
by a herd of mountain sheep. It seemed to be the only
passageway down the slick rocks. They knew the Lord had
answered their prayers and provided the way, showing the Lord
will provide.
These scouts thought they could be back in eight days,
but it was twenty-three days before they returned, tired
after breaking trails in the deep snow.
During the interval while President Smith was in Salt
Lake City making arrangements to secure funds for powder, I
worked with the crew making the road over the remainder of
the way across the desert. I moved on to the Fifty Mile
Spring. From this spring we traveled all the next day in ten
inches of snow. My boots made of valley-tanned leather were
soaking wet and I realized I must take them off before they
froze to my feet. I did this and wrapped my feet the best I
could and continued on the journey.
The next morning we made a fire to cook. Our bread was
so hard that we had to shave it with an ax. We filled a
frying pan with water and put the bread in the pan to render
it palatable.
Before we could approach the Colorado River we came to a
sandstone ledge that stopped the progress of our wagons. On
the other side of the ledge was a little canyon that led to
the river, which was half a mile away.
Shortage of feed made it necessary for part of the
company to camp seven miles back from the river at Fifty
Mile Spring. This was where I made camp with my two wagons
alongside each other. We were as comfortable as we could be
away from home.
Meetings and socials were being held in the tents and on
the rocks. Trails were being blasted down the treacherous
hole. The work was slow down the deep crevice. Six inches
of snow fell as we worked. Now we knew that water was
available in the holes in the rocks. Many of the animals
died or had to be killed due to the lack of food and the cold
weather.
On Christmas Eve. these sturdy men and women danced on
the rocks to the fiddles of Edwin Cox and Charles Walton, Sr.
On Christmas this year the children were anxious to know if
Santa Claus could find them when they were so far from home.
Because of the foresight of their parents and their faith in
Santa, our children hung their stockings on the rag carpet
along with the other useful things, and to their great
surprise and joy Santa too did the impossible. In the
morning, the children found some candy, nuts, mugs, and
mittens that my mother had made before we had left Parowan.
The Decker boys and their wives brought their dinner
over and ate with us in our tent. The dinner was served on
our bed, which was a bedstead with rope cords for springs.
The bedding was removed and a large cloth served as a cover.
The plum pudding was cooked in the boiler, and we also had a
large roast beef, gravy, potatoes, dried beans, and dried
pears. We were surely blessed.
On New Year's Day we rejoiced over the wonderful storm.
The bitterly cold weather did not discourage us, and our
company called on their innate fortitude to endure the
privations they were called upon to bear.
During the first week in January 1880, at Fifty Mile
Springs, Mrs. James (Lena) Decker gave birth to the first
child born in the country (January 3, 1880). My wife Ann was
called upon to be the midwife.
The cliff, which was forty-five feet high, had to be
blasted back. The country above the cliff sloped at about a
45 degree angle. This necessitated blasting about 300 feet
to make a passage large enough to get a wagon through. At
one time fifty men were on the job. Some helped lower men on
ropes over the cliffs and thirty men were working on the road
below, making a dugway through the solid rock in order to get
out on a sandslide. The blasting could only be done by a few
men.
Ben Perkins was called "The Blower and B1aster from
Wales", and he and his brother Hyrum, who also had experience
in the use of blasting powder in coal mines in Wales, were
put in charge of that phase of the work.
The ropes that were used to lower the men over the
cliffs to their work were wearing out. The trail made down
the rocks to the grass-covered ledge for the stock was so
dangerous that many horses slid off and were dashed to the
rocks below, about 1800 feet. This trail was improved and
subsequently used as a pack animal trail for the expedition
to get to the river.
For a time it was necessary to lower the workers to
their labors on ropes. Later a small opening in the cliff
was enlarged and widened into a narrow trail down which men
could crawl on their hands and knees. The supply of powder
was exhausted long before the road was completed.
The major section of the remaining descent could be made
by means of a dugway constructed from materials laboriously
gathered to fill in, but a smooth expanse of slick rock
shelving away at a 50 degree angle was a baffling problem
even for a trained engineer. However, Ben Perkins suggested
that new wide points be forged on the drills and a large row
of holes was then drilled across the solid rock face, with
oak stakes placed in them to hold the debris and brush.
Poles were placed along the rims. These were to keep the
wagons from sliding off.
The brush was gathered from the banks of the Colorado
River, three-fourths of a mile below, in the form of
driftwood and willows. At only a few points could the
workers stand and swing their sledges.
Grooves were made for the upper wagon wheels so that the
wagons would not tip over on the downward trip. This was
done by blasting out the rock and filling in against the
poles. Several horses plunged to their deaths from these
steep unfinished slopes.
On January 22, Arza Judd brought to the camp twenty-five
pounds of giant powder which was sent to the colonists by
President Silas S. Smith from Salt Lake City. (Brother Judd
also brought word that President Smith was sick at Red
Creek.) With this help the work on the road progressed much
faster. The blasted rock fell in this awful chute and helped
make a fill for the road.
On January 26 a start was made to move the wagons down
the hole. Kumen Jones was the first man to begin the
venture. He had a well-broken horse which he hitched to a
wagon belonging to Ben Perkins and drove it down through the
hole. Long ropes were provided and about twenty men and boys
held on to the wagons to make sure that there would be no
accidents because of brakes giving way or horses cutting up
after their long layoff. But all went smooth and safe, and
by the 28th of January most of the wagons were across the
river and work had commenced again on the Cottonwood Canyon
road. Eighty-four wagons came down that road and crossed the
river in perfect safety.
Meeting with slight obstacles on the other side, we
passed up Cottonwood Canyon. The walls at the end of the
canyon were not perpendicular, but sloped back at an angle of
about 45 degrees. We blasted a dugway up the side of this
wall and reached the top in safety. We traveled along for
about 12 miles on a mesa on the north rim of the San Juan
River. Here a baby was born in a wagon.
Getting up to the surface of the earth again, we
traveled on about a day's journey when we had to halt again
for several days. While our work was going on, part of our
members went back to gather stock that we had left on the
Escalante Desert. The road was now built down the sleek rock
and we moved on to the "Lake".
This was a very romantic scene. The Lake was from 5 to
8 rods wide and about 40 rods long. The south end, which was
called the head of the lake, terminated at the base of two
solid sandstone bluffs about a rod and a half apart, back of
which was a beautiful strip of meadow in wonderful contrast
to the mounds of sandstone which contributed largely to the
makeup of this part of the country. In moving along our road
wound around between these knolls of sandstone.
We soon came to a slight divide of this same formation
which was very hard on the animals' feet. We now traveled up
Castle Gulch, some nine miles, where we came to Oak Springs,
which was up on the side of the hill. Here we made another
halt during which we built the road down "Clay Hill". This
work occupied some three weeks.
When the road was finished, we started down. A
snowstorm came and made our progress very slow and miserable.
Our company was composed largely of young married men.
When we came to the top of the hill they would detach their
lead horses and their wives would drive them down the hill
while the men brought the wagons down with one pair of
horses. My wife had driven a pair of horses all the way
while I drove three yoke of oxen, but here I had to drive her
team down the hill. Coming along the road, I passed women
driving their wagons along the road. One woman, Rachel
Perkins, had driven under the shelter of a huge rock and was
holding the team with one hand while carrying her baby in the
other arm.
When we arrived at the bottom again, our oxen were gone,
but darkness was upon us and we had to camp for the night.
We were now at the foot of a hill without wood and with very
little water. It was dark and still snowing. My two yoke of
oxen were gone and I did not know where. My wife made a
sling and gave us each a small portion of food and we went to
bed without any supper.
The next day our scattered company was gathered up and
we moved on a distance that took two days, when we were
confronted by a box canyon walled in with irregular ledges
with an occasional huge rock thrown off. Here we wheeled to
the left, traveled up the side of the gulch until we reached
a crossing, and went back down the other side to within a
stone's throw of where we had camped the night before.
It was the month of March now, with a foot of snow and
the frost coming out of the ground. There was no chance of
dodging a mudhole after a few wagons had passed over the road
and cut in. With much difficulty we traveled on until we
came to Elk Ridge. Elk Ridge was a pine and cedar forest,
and we had to cut our way for about 35 miles through it. We
next found ourselves in the Comb Wash, getting mired in
quicksand. Ourselves and our animals suffered from thirst,
some of the latter becoming unable to pull their loads any
further. It was here that one of my oxen became exhausted
and drank too freely of alkali water and died.
Eventually, we reached the San Juan River at the mouth
of the wash. Here we let the animals rest while we made a
very difficult piece of road. A very steep dugway, a quarter
of a mile in length, took us up to a kind of table land, or
rather, rock, along which we followed with some difficulty.
The company arrived here, adjacent to the present site
of Bluff, on the sixth day of April, 1880. Upon
investigation the following day it was found necessary to
blaze a trail up from the head of a small box canyon which
led up from the northeast corner of our prospective town.
Here we found some tillable land and decided to stay and make
a settlement.
We took the wagon boxes off the wagons and dug a trench
a few feet parallel to the boxes and stuck some cottonwoods
in the trench. We unfastened the wagon cover on one side and
attached it to the cottonwoods to make a temporary room and
shelter. This being accomplished, we set about to ascertain
where our canal would come.
The canal being surveyed, we went to work in earnest to
get the water out. When the canal was finished and we went
to turn the water in, we found that the water level in the
river had gone down and left the head of our canal above the
surface of the water. We tried to raise the water by means
of a dam, but failing in this, we extended the canal up to
where a perpendicular cliff formed the north bank of the
river. Here we tried again to tap the river, with the same
result. By this time it was too late in the season and we
abandoned the work on the canal for this year.
We next built log houses in a square close to each other
for protection from the Indians. Finding it impossible to
raise even a late crop this year, we arranged for the
building of a meetinghouse.
During the summer of 1880 we held our church services
under the shade of a tree that stood on the piece of land
that was alloted to me. It was under the shade of the same
tree that the Bluff Ward was organized with Jens Nielson as
bishop. It was also there that I furnished the bread and in
connection with Joseph A. Lyman officiated at the first
Sacrament service in the San Juan Country.
We managed to finish the meetinghouse by Christmas of
that year. The lumber for the pulpit and the floor we sawed
with a whip saw.
At this place I raised a patch of wheat, cut it with a
hand sickle, threshed it with a stick, and ground it in a
coffee mill. Out of this, bread was made to fill the mouths
of nine people. When the supplies I had brought from Parowan
gave out, I paid $9.00 per hundred for flour from Alamosa,
Colorado.
After two years [perhaps one year] at Bluff it was necessary to work to
get means to feed our families. One of my best horses had
been stolen by the Indians and I had to give $25.00 to get
her back. So, taking the provisions we had, we started back
along the road we had traveled two [the] years before. My
provisions were running short by this time and I had to
return to Iron County to work for supplies.
On this journey we suffered much for water. My dog
perished and a mare belonging to George Ipson fell in the
harness, being overcome with the heat and thirst.
After taking care of our animals, the next thing to
consider was how to cross the Colorado River. When we
reached the river, we did not go to our first crossing, but
went above to a place called Dandy Crossing. When we got
there, we found that the ferry boat was on the other side and
that the owner was in Escalante City.
Our next problem was to get across the river to get the
ferry boat. We took the wagon box sides and cleated them
together and fastened a ten gallon barrel to each end. Then
Zachariah B. Decker, an old Mormon Battalion leader,
volunteered to sit astride this improvised raft. Using a
spade for an oar, he was successful in rowing himself across
to the ferry boat. On the way back, he had to use the oar
with all his strength to keep from going down the stream.
Taking the boat from its moorings, he worked it up the west
bank to where the stream butted against the cliff. All being
ready, he started for the east side of the river. He rowed
for dear life, and it was by the smallest margin that we were
able to catch the rope when it was thrown by the gallant old
soldier. The river butted against a cliff on the east side
immediately below where stood and thus we were able to cross
the stream in safety.
We traveled up Grand Gulch and at noon of the second day
we stopped by a pool of highly-colored water in the wash,
which proved to be so full of minerals that we could not use
it. Lars Christensen and myself mounted a horse and started
in quest of water. We soon found a pool of rain water which
had come down from the cliff some time ago. It was literally
full of polliwogs, but it answered our purpose.
That night, we reached Grand Tank by taking the left
fork of Grand Gulch, traveling between two mountain walls
just far enough apart for a wagon to pass, and somewhat wider
in places. For a distance of about two miles this tank would
remind one of the mouth of a tunnel, or an old-fashioned
brick oven built in the wall and extending into the rock
mountain farther than we could see. Here we laid over for
half a day. We did not see the sun until eleven o'clock in
the morning because of the towering cliffs.
Moving on, we crossed the divide and went down Silver
Falls Canyon. In the mouth of this canyon was a cave to
which on our return to San Juan we drove eight wagons and
camped.
Reaching Escalante Creek, we found it necessary to rest
our animals. Our provisions were almost exhausted. Lars
Christensen and myself started on horseback for Escalante to
obtain supplies. We had not gone more than a quarter of a
mile when we met the ferryman returning to the Colorado
River. Through him the Escalante people sent ample
provisions to last us. I must go back now and state how this
came about.
Edward Dalton, a member of the Mormon Battalion, was a
candidate for the legislature and had visited our company for
the purpose of getting the support of the people in the
coming election. On his return to Iron County, he had passed
us during the early part of our journey, and noticing the
condition of the road, thought that our supplies might run
short. He therefore bought the supplies and sent them by the
ferryman. Now, I could not very well pass over his act of
kindness without mention.
Winding our way over two ranges of mountains that
separated us from our former home, we arrived at Parowan in
due time and found our people all well and glad to see us.
Our people were very kind to us in our homeless condition. I
rented a place that was called a house where my family stayed
the winter of 1882-83 [1881-82] while I freighted from Milford to
Silver Reef and thus we passed the winter. In this so-called
home, my daughter Elizabeth was born on December 27, 1882 [1881].
In the spring of 1883 we returned to the San Juan. When
we came to the mouth of the Silver Falls Canyon we camped in
the aforementioned cave. As we proceeded on our journey,
nothing out of the ordinary transpired and we reached Bluff
in due time.
We took a weiner pig back to Bluff with us in a box
wired to the side of the wagon. Everyone in Bluff gave their
garbage to the pig if they had any. So when it was fat and
butchered, every home in Bluff had a fry.
We also took a few chickens in a box wired to the other
side of the wagon. Now the children had chores to do night
and morning.
We took up our share of the work of building up our town
and developing our resources, which were quite limited.
Stock raising was the only industry from which we could
derive any benefit. Of course, we tried to farm, but our
water supply was so uncertain that we could scarcely do
anything at that. Cane and corn did fine. We planted enough
potatoes and wheat to learn that the climate was not suited
to that kind of a crop.
In the spring of 1884, on account of the abundance of
snow that had fallen in Colorado the preceding winter, the
water of the San Juan were unusually high and my bunch of
cattle had grown pitifully small. I had sold some for
supplies, the Indians had stolen some, and some had strayed
away.
During the summer of 1884, the Indians brought the
measles to our town and our little son, John Taylor Rowley,
died of a relapse. Because the water could not be
controlled, we asked permission from the town council to bury
Johnny on the hill behind us so we could see his grave. So
all other graves were moved there also.
On learning that the head of our canal was in danger of
being washed away, we rallied all our available forces and
proceded to protect our headgate. We found that it was like
pitching straw against the wind. We could accomplish
nothing. Camping back some distance from the river, in the
morning we could see our headgate, partly tangled up in the
trees that had fallen during the night, teetering up and down
to the time beaten by the waves in the stream. I had now
become discouraged.
In my condition, with a large family looking to me for
support, I must go where I could produce something. I talked
the matter over with President Lyman and he said, "Brother
Rowley, go and God bless you!"
Before we left Bluff my sister Louisa had told me in a
letter about the new area in Castle Valley where they had
moved called Huntington, where the prospects were good to
start a permanent home with plenty of water and land.
Through her encouragement we made plans to get to the new
area as early in the spring as possible. She also told us we
could stay with her family until we could get into shelter of
our own. We felt that would be best for us at the time.
So my brother Thomas and Harrison H. Harriman, one of
the seven presidents of the Seventy, and myself made
arrangements to leave at the same time. We traveled together
and when we reached Mancos, Colorado, we were able to support
our families, pay our expenses and have a little left.
We waited at Cheer Butte for the waters of the Grand
River to fall within its banks, which did not occur until
some time in August because of the unusually heavy snowfall
in western Colorado the preceding winter. When we learned
that the waters were receding we prepared to proceed on our
journey to Huntington, Emery County. Reaching the Grand
River about the first or second day of September, we found
that the river was not fordable by any means. We were under
the necessity of unloading our wagons and taking them all
apart. Taking a part of a wagon and a part of a family one
trip and returning for another cargo of the same kind, using
a little rowboat for a ferryboat, we crossed the river in
safety.
On the morrow, we made for Courthouse Rock where we
camped the first night from Grand River. Next day we headed
for Little Grand, which we later learned consisted of a wash,
a section house, and a railroad in close proximity. Here we
found no water except flood water so thick it could hardly
flow. We went on and on. Night came and still we traveled
on until after the moon came up. Now the wagon road crossed
the railroad where we halted by a pool of water in a
excavation made by the grader in building the railroad. On
crossing a little ridge we found we were almost upon the
banks of the Green River. We wanted to cross before the
winds began to blow. However, we could not cross before
evening. The next day the wind blew the hardest I had ever
experienced and it kept up all day.
We reached Huntington Creek near Wilsonville on the
evening of September 9th, 1884, and reached Huntington on the
evening of the 10th. Here I purchased a lot on First North
and East Street.
It was with much difficulty that I secured logs enough
to build a place of shelter for my family. That first winter
I was under the necessity of gleaning logs from any point or
hill or from anywhere adjacent to the canyon road. The road
itself did not reach good timber. Later in the fall I gave a
week's work on the canyon road under the direction of Elias
Cox and J.L. Brasher, the object being more to connect with
Sanpete than to reach timber.
In the mere hut that I was able to build after I reached
Huntington, our daughter Ida was born on February 23, 1885.
Later I made the purchase of a homestead located on what is
now known as Rowley Flat. There, in a log cabin, our son
Thomas Jewell was born on May 2, 1887. The only ones present
were he, his mother, and myself. His brother, Richard Edwin,
was born August 22, 1889 under more auspicious circumstances.
Here I want to relate a remarkable dream. Richard, our
youngest son, was a very affectionate and lovable child, and
on account of him I have wondered if parents could think too
much of a child. Our anxiety for him was great and. his
mother dreamed that she lost her boy--and found him again
after four years. On February 14, 1897, he died. On
February 14, 1901 his mother died, and we believe thus; that
she found her son after four years, and that she was
forewarned of the sadness that would come to our home.
After the death of my dear wife I was not left alone
entirely as I had some unmarried children still at home. But to
comply with the last request of their mother, I made a temporary
home in town for the children so they wouldn't have to walk
through the fields after school and when they were old enough
for night entertainment they would be safe going home.
Those still at home were Elizabeth, who later married
George Collard; Ida, who married Francis Brasher; Jewell,
who married Myrtle Gardner; and Katie Ann, who married
Theodore LeRoy. Katie Ann is Mary Ann Rowley Guymon daughter,
Samuel granddaughter, who he helped raise after Mary Ann died.
One winter when the influenza was invading many homes in
town, my son Jewell and his family became ill with it. My
daughter-in-law Margaret Rowley was a nurse, and she and her
husband by a second marriage were helping in the home.
Doctor Thomas C. Hill was attending those who were ill.
When Jewell became ill, the doctor told Margaret and
myself to send for the family. When we were all there and
saw how low he was we sent to town for the Elders. Before
the Elders arrived, the spirit had left Jewell's body and the
doctor told the nurse to remove the plasters. The sheet was
put over his face and he was pronounced dead. The family all
left the room to console his grieving wife and children.
When the Elders arrived I requested that they administer
to Jewell, having much faith in the power of the Priesthood.
The doctor, not being of the same faith, spoke up and said,
"Do as you like, but it's no use. He is already gone."
The Elders and his brothers and sisters and I went to
Jewell's bedside and I uncovered his face. The Elders
anointed him with the consecrated oil and laid their hands on
his head and sealed the anointing and gave him a blessing.
As the Elders prayed, Jewell coughed. The doctor jumped
up from his chair and went to the bedroom door, and saw
Jewell's eyelids fluttering. Jewell's eyes opened and he
heard the Elders say "Amen." Doctor Hill immediately called
for the plasters to be put on again.
Jewell had gone far enough into the Spirit World that he
saw and recognized his mother who had passed away when he was
fourteen years old. He had a mission to fulfill-he lived to
see his baby boy (who was not even born at the time of his
sickness) fulfill a mission and later be called to be a
Bishop. This was an experience we will never forget. Our
testimonies were greatly strengthened as to the power of the
Priesthood.
After three years of loneliness for my companion, I
married Julia Westover on December 17th, 1903. Our home was
a happy one until December 2nd, 1922. She had suffered with
asthma for many years, and now she had found relief. There
were no children with Julia, but my own children were by my
side and took me into their homes and cared for my needs. I
was never alone after that.
NOTE: At the age of 86 Samuel Rowley was still a
faithful worker in the Church, with unfailing attendance to
his duties in that organization. He loved to attend the
annual Conference in Salt Lake City when he could. He was
crippled with rheumatism to the extent that he had to use a
cane to assist himself in walking.
He had had a serious accident years earlier. Once when
he was freighting an animal frightened his horses. When they
lunged ahead the jolt threw him from the wagon and the hind
wheel ran over his hip. There were no doctors available to
set it in place and rheumatism set in. This caused him to
limp for the rest of his life, but he could travel about by
himself on the train or street car. He was always given a
seat by the pulpit at Church meetings because of his hearing
loss.
On January 1, 1928, he fasted from sun to sun and
walked to church, one and a half blocks from his home. There
he opened the meeting with prayer. He also bore his
testimony as to the truthfulness of the gospel.
On January 4th of that year he was stricken with
bronchial pneumonia which caused his death on January 8th at
the home of his daughter Hannah Eliza Rowley Johnson.
Samuel Rowley was laid to rest in the Huntington
Cemetery, Emery County, Utah, after living the life of an
active pioneer and a true Latter Day Saint. He was the
father of eleven children.
Source:
Autobiography found at FamilySearch portions appear to be
a year later than what actually happened. -- David Walton, Bluff Fort CSM.
Right-click [Mac Control-click] to open full-size image:
Ann Taylor and Samuel Rowley
Ann Taylor and Samuel Rowley
Samuel and Ann Rowley Family about the time they were in Bluff
Samuel and Ann Tayor Rowley with daughter Mary Ann (Annie)
Samuel James, Hannah Eliza and Mary Ann Rowley (1874)